Chapter Text
It’s not…the worst thing Langa has ever done. Objectively speaking.
One time as a kid, he’d broken another boy’s nose during a hockey match, and being ridiculously squeamish about blood, he’d run off without even making sure he was okay. He stole twenty dollars from his mom’s purse for a bake sale in grade school. He’s lied, copied classmates’ answers during tests, snuck out of his bedroom practically every weekend since they moved to Okinawa to participate in an illegal skating tournament.
No thinking, just doing.
It normally takes something dire for guilt to make him reconsider his actions. The fight with Reki was one of those times. Seeing the hurt in the eyes of someone whose trust he had lost, watching the rain and tears roll down freckled cheeks he had only ever wanted to see round out in a grin… that was guilt-inducing.
It wasn’t like a broken vase or another rejection of a girl he’d never spoken to prior to a confession. It didn’t just go away when Reki wrenched his arm free and walked off with Langa’s heart dragging under the soles of his shoes. That guilt lingered.
It weighed him down like rocks shoved in his pockets and it flared to life every time he remembered the words spoken to him that night. “We’re not a good match.” Part of him knows Reki couldn’t really mean that. He knows that they’ll eventually be okay again, but he has to put forth some kind of effort to make it true.
He has to show somehow that they’re meant to be together, and that something as benign as a race with Adam isn’t going to tear them apart. They need to talk. That’s why he’s here.
That’s why he’s standing in his best friend’s bedroom, hovering by a cluttered desk and pretending his stomach isn’t coiling tight with nerves telling him to go home. That Reki wouldn’t want him here, alone, uninvited. That Reki might even hate him for disrespecting another unspoken boundary. But he has to make things better, and really, snooping on his best friend is not the worst thing he’s ever done, and the trembling in his fingers has got to be from adrenaline.
That’s all. It’s not guilt, it’s…anticipation. Probably.
Because Reki has got to come home eventually, he’ll never know Langa was snooping in the first place, and they’ll have the privacy to talk things out properly. It’s not like Langa snuck in. He wouldn’t sink that low. Masae had let him in with open arms and a generous offer to stay for dinner. He hopes he’ll get to keep his word that he will and that all of this misunderstanding will be swept under the rug by then.
He’s careful as he moves a stack of papers off the top of the iPad sitting on the desk. The device comes to life when he presses the button and he sucks in a quiet breath at the simple wallpaper displayed on the lock screen. It’s stark white, blinding in the dark room, with a black calligraphy-style infinity sign drawn across the center.
That has to be a good sign.
He picks up the tablet and carries it over to sit on the edge of Reki’s bed. Swiping up, he’s met with the passcode number pad, and he smiles as he taps the '8' button four times in a row. That hasn’t changed either.
It opens with something completely typical, a half-watched skate trick compilation video on YouTube. Langa closes out of the app and swipes through the ones on the home screen in deliberation. Messages are too personal, too far, though the red number 3 at the corner of the icon indicates unread texts. It’s tempting.
He shakes his head and goes to the photo gallery instead. Scrolling to the top, Langa holds his breath as a flurry of colors zooms past his eyes which are glued to the screen. Curiosity thrums through his veins and he bites into his lower lip as he taps on a random video with a thumbnail that only reveals graffitied concrete. As it automatically plays, he turns the volume down so Reki’s family won’t overhear.
“It’s already midnight,” an unfamiliar voice laments behind the camera.
“One more time!”
It’s a younger version of his best friend on the screen. It’s only from a couple of years ago, but Reki really looks different in some ways. He’s shorter here, with a higher-pitched voice and a few bandages on his face shy of being a mummy. His clothes fit baggier, and his hair is maybe a few centimeters shorter in the back.
Reki attempts to ollie over a set of cones and crashes gracelessly to the ground on his knees, and the clip ends with shaky laughter. Langa’s blinded by the pretty smile that he misses so much now. His fingers hover over it and accidentally pause the video.
“He still makes those same faces,” he murmurs.
It’s been too long since he’s been the reason for that one. The realization of that should inspire him to be better, to put down the iPad and text Reki to tell him they need to talk, but he doesn’t - of course he doesn’t. He keeps swiping through pictures. The camera roll is messy and unorganized, full of screenshots, selfies, and recordings of tricks. Lots and lots of tricks. Most of them end in bailing and laughter.
And then there are ones that make Langa’s eyes widen in surprise. It looks like… a series of mirror selfies taken in a changing room. A small wooden cubicle where Reki stands with clothes hanging up on the wall behind him, holding his phone up to snap pics of each outfit he tries on. They’re time-stamped back to a few months before Langa and his mom moved to the island.
Reki in different pairs of pants, some loose for skating and some tighter and in different patterns. The skinny black and white plaid ones are especially cute on him, hugging his waist and showing a sliver of the maroon boxers underneath. Langa swipes again and finds a lineup of shirts he’s never seen before, so he figures they were never purchased.
Not as exciting - most of them are graphic tees, one photo features a jacket that’s both too cool for Reki’s style and too warm for the climate.
He’s about to exit the app and find something else to do, maybe play one of the games to keep his mind from wandering, but the next nudge of his thumb makes the tablet fall to his lap with a squeak. He scoots back on the bed and angles the screen away from the closed door as if someone’s just waiting to bust through it and catch him.
Langa blinks three, four times. Snaps his stupid slack mouth shut.
Holy shit.
With the same changing room in the background, Reki stands with a shyer posture and turns his face away from the mirror, as if he can’t look at himself properly. His knuckles are white around his phone case and his legs are long and bare up to right above his knee where a skirt sits. It’s a pretty shade of light yellow, with a sheer mesh layer in the same color on top that makes it appear more flowy and feminine, perfectly complimenting the tan skin underneath.
It looks like maybe a bow sits at the left side up near his waist, a dangling ribbon that would be so fun to pull. Langa can’t believe what he’s seeing but it’s right in front of him. His mouth runs dry as he shamelessly pinches his fingers against the screen to zoom in.
He barely notices the simple white tank top Reki’s wearing with it because he’s so hyper-focused on smooth, strong thighs, the way they’re pressed against one another as if Reki’s so unused to dressing this way that he’s forgotten how to stand. It’s… God, it’s hot. He knows it’s his best friend, but they’ve never been just that, at least in Langa’s mind.
He can’t count on one hand the number of times he’s felt this thick rush of arousal down south when his stares linger too long, or when Reki looks at him a certain way. He wants those legs around his head. He wants to be there in that changing room, with his hand slowly inching underneath the dainty fabric. Watching both of them in the mirror.
Why had Reki done that? Is he… does he like that kind of stuff?
Was it for a joke, a dare? A beef? It would be sort of odd if that were the case.
Langa eagerly moves on to the next photo but it’s just a blurry snap of an unfinished board design. His head spins and he’s worried he’s losing it, pouring over rows and rows of pictures in hopes of finding something similar. Something that can lead him to an answer.
When there’s nothing, he almost gives up and shuts the stupid thing off, but amidst his frustrated swiping he remembers there’s an album built into every device these days for hidden pictures. He’s never used the one on his own phone, never had a reason to, but it can’t hurt to check, right?
It’s not the worst thing he’s ever done.
“Keep telling yourself that,” he says to no one.
His fingers twitch in anticipation when he once again types in the easiest passcode in all of history, and the secret collection unfolds before his eyes. If there’s a divine creator, they’re smiling down on Langa’s horrible impulsive choices - or they’re trying to strike him dead with a heart attack. It’s hard to tell.
The album is not empty. It’s a shock, at first, the amount of unexpected skin on show, but Langa’s dick is quick to catch up to what’s happening here. He has so many lewd images at his fingertips but finds himself brainlessly opening the one with the first flash of yellow he sees.
And holy shit, this one is not in a department store. It’s in the very room he’s sitting in, taken with Reki’s phone propped up on something and probably using a timer so that he wouldn’t have to press the button himself. He’s standing by the shelf that houses his manga collection and his hand is toying with the bottom edge of the skirt, barely lifting it to reveal more of his thigh.
The cropped hoodie is something else Langa’s never seen him wear. It’s similar to all the others but shows off so much more, from the curve of his waist to his cute belly button.
Reki owns these clothes. They’re here, in his bedroom somewhere. He has these in his possession.
Langa wills himself to return to the rest of the album, knowing that he saw far more than a teasing outfit check. His breath is picking up speed and he can feel the swell of his cock as it stiffens in his jeans. He’s pretty much lost the plot now. All of the options laid out in front of him are fucking indecent, and revealing, and Reki would absolutely kill him if he knew.
He hovers over different options in a state of pure catatonic horniness. Shirtless Reki. Bathroom mirror selfies where the towel drapes too low on his hips.
There’s one that makes Langa finally give in and press the heel of his hand against his zipper; it’s Reki, laying on his front on his bed, with his perky ass covered in tight boxer briefs angled toward the air. It looks like his hand might be wedged under his body, dipping right down into the waistband of the underwear, and fuck.
Fuck. He shouldn’t be looking at this. Langa squeezes the outline of his erection with a choked sigh.
Who is he taking these for? Is he sending these to someone? Has someone else gotten off to these pictures?
That line of thought isn’t helpful. Jealousy mixed with unreasonable levels of desire do not aid in decision-making, but there’s no path in sight where any reasonable decisions are made this evening. Langa’s hips lift involuntarily from the bed when his body realizes he’s not actively touching himself anymore, trying to ignore the painful ache of it.
He barely rubs himself over the jeans and the full body shiver makes his torso jerk forward with a jolt. His other hand clumsily swipes through to the following picture. It’s not a picture at all, though. It’s a video of Reki in that same timeframe, but this time he’s got the boxer briefs tugged down past the curve of his round ass, leaving it exposed.
There’s a quiet buzz and Langa looks around the room in a flustered panic to try and identify where it’s coming from. He realizes with a startle that nothing is buzzing nearby - it’s coming from the tablet. He watches with bated breath as the Reki in the video slips his hand back between his legs, the view obscured by the camera’s awkward angle.
Whatever’s making that noise gets pressed there, and Reki’s face buries into his blankets to suppress the quiet whine it pulls from him. Langa nearly short circuits. He hurriedly turns the volume down again no matter how much he wants to hear, and watches with lidded eyes as Reki’s body rolls into his touch in stuttered movements.
It’s too much. He’s going to ruin his pants at this point, can feel the wet spot every time his sensitive tip rubs the inside of his underwear. He switches the iPad off and stands up.
It must be too fast because his vision grays out and he has to lean against the desk to keep his body from giving out under his weight, waiting for the blood to circle back around to his brain. He needs…something. He needs a distraction so that he doesn’t have to awkwardly jerk off in his best friend’s bedroom.
Hobbling over to the closet, he pulls open the sliding door and peers inside. Langa’s heart races as he pushes back hoodie after hoodie, scanning for proof that Reki’s wardrobe is more diverse than he wants people to think. All of it is normal, though, pants ripped at the knees and the same gear logo stuck onto everything the guy owns. Eventually, he gets to the very back and his fingers brush over not an item of clothing, but something flat and solid.
He pulls it out and finds that it’s a small storage box. Bingo.
Langa carries it back over to the bed and dumps it out unceremoniously. Not only does a heap of pastel yellow fall onto the sheets, but so do other things that make him sure this is some sort of dream, a hyperrealistic fantasy. It can’t be real life. There’s no way he’d be so lucky.
The sound of a door shutting down the hall makes him jump, but once he’s sure it’s just one of the girls running around the house he settles again. Langa’s palm presses against his chest and he savors the steady thump there, the beat of butterfly wings proving that he’s awake and this is really happening. His other hand fists into the skirt and he picks it up to inspect it closer.
He doesn’t feel in control of his actions when his first instinct is to bring it to his face, inhaling to take in the faint scent it holds. It’s something warm, like Reki. Sweet and spicy and beautiful. He can’t quite pinpoint the specifics. Langa’s eyes slip shut as he breathes it in, his legs spreading as much as they can to alleviate the pressure on his dick.
It’s straining upward, trapped behind restrictive layers and making it hard to think. He ignores it again to look through the rest of the treasure he’s found.
More fabric in the form of stringy...lacy things. Panties? Surely not, right? Why would Reki - but then again, why wouldn’t Reki?
He’s already proven to have a handful of dirty secrets. Just like the small, hard object that Langa digs out from underneath the pile of clothes. It’s the size of a tube of lipstick but it’s clearly not one. It’s more cylindrical and has a singular power button on one end, and Langa doesn’t have to press it to know that it’s the vibrator from the video. His fingers run over the cool surface in a fidgety bout of anxiety.
This tiny device is enough to get Reki off. He wonders how often he uses it, and if it makes him feel as good as Langa could. But how is he supposed to compete with something like that, really? Should he even be thinking that way?
His thoughts are so scattered, so messy and haywire, that he doesn’t notice anything is amiss until the bedroom door is creeping open and light from the hallway spills inside, illuminating the horrible scene he’s created. He drops the vibrator into the wrinkled folds of blankets but he’s caught red-handed either way.
Shit. Shit. How do I-
“What the actual fuck?” Reki whispers.
He pulls the door shut behind himself and leans against it, eyes wide. His hair is down. The normal headband that ties it out of his way is absent, and he looks like a frightened animal backed into a corner. Langa doesn’t even dare to blink.
He’s stuck, mouth half open in a delayed explanation that hasn’t even begun to form in his mind. Reki’s lip wobbles in uncertainty.
“I don’t even know - Langa, can you say something? Why? Why are you even here? What the hell are you doing?”
The redhead stomps over to where he sits and his cheeks are so flushed, the whites of his eyes brimming with moisture. Maybe not from sadness, but from anger or embarrassment. He shouldn’t be embarrassed. He gets like this so easily, though, and Langa really should have known to be more careful.
Why wasn’t he more careful?
Reki can hardly look at him as he grabs the skirt and clings onto it in a shaking grip, close to his chest as if the memory of it will disappear just like that. There’s something fierce in his expression. It’s the most emotion Langa’s witnessed from him since the fight and it makes his stomach clench.
“I have had the most insane day of my life. I should have known! I should have known the universe wasn’t done fucking with me yet! If you’re going to call me a freak, please just do it already and get out of my house. I’m done.”
That puts a little more fire under Langa’s ass. He shakes his head wildly at the harsh words whisper-yelled at him and reaches out to hold Reki’s wrist because he looks ready to bolt. It’s unclear where he would go, because this is his house, but Langa can’t let Reki push him away again.
This is their chance, he needs to make him understand!
“Wait! Don’t say that. You’re not a freak, Reki. It’s okay! It's fine.”
Langa’s thumb rubs over the side of Reki’s arm, but the boy bristles uncomfortably and his eyes narrow in distrust. He thankfully doesn’t yank away from the hold like he did before. That would be enough to make all of Langa’s unearned, delusional hope wither.
“I’m sorry I went through your things. But-”
“But what? What could you possibly say to explain that? This isn’t… it isn’t funny, Langa. This is private. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you.”
God, his cheeks are so red. He keeps looking between where their skin meets and the box's contents spilled out on the bed, shifting his weight between his feet like he wants nothing more than to shove it all away in the closet again. Langa tries to tug him a little closer but he lets out a disgruntled noise and trips over his shoes only a few centimeters forward.
He straightens his posture again and levels Langa with a fiery stare, molten amber burning with disdain.
“I got carried away waiting for you to get back. I just wanted to make things okay between us.”
“And you thought going through my shit was the way to do that? Cool. Good call dude. That fixes everything for sure.”
“You’re really mad at me,” Langa sulks.
It’s not something he means to say, it just comes out as he realizes the weight of what he’s done. Reki scoffs and tosses the skirt to the other side of the room. It lands sadly on the floor next to his crumpled school bag.
He doesn’t answer after a beat, so Langa sucks in a steadying breath and tries again.
“I know you’re embarrassed, but you don’t need to be. I…I think it’s nice. And I’m really sorry, but I saw the pictures, and I just wanted to know if you…if it-“
“The pictures,” Reki interrupts him in a flat tone.
If anything though, he’s only getting redder, and his fingers are fidgeting and squeezing in and out of a fist. Langa’s a little worried that they might be going numb with the desperate grasp he has around the boy’s wrist. He lets go and opts to stand up instead, moving the tablet from its precarious placement on his knees. Once they’re eye to eye he tries really hard not to mask any of the sincerity he feels.
His face is blank even when he doesn’t mean for it to be, so it’s a conscious effort to release the stubborn muscles. His hand skims softly over the back of Reki’s tricep because, despite his efforts to be respectful, he can’t stand to be still.
“I shouldn’t have done it. I know. I’m sorry. You’re incredible, though, Reki. You’re really beautiful.”
“What?”
Reki’s teeth dig into his bottom lip and for a moment he meets Langa’s gaze, bewilderment written clear across twisted features. His lips are so shiny and wet. There’s something odd at the corner of his mouth, and as Langa looks closer he feels a sharp tug of protectiveness flare. It’s a bruise that hasn’t quite bloomed forth yet, a smudge of blue and green-yellow.
His other hand comes to cup Reki’s chin to tilt his face toward the light.
“What happened to you?”
He can tell the exact moment Reki swallows in apprehension, can feel the bob of his throat against the heel of his hand.
“Don’t. You said…something. Don’t get distracted, it’s fine. I’m fine.”
Reki’s warm breath fans over his skin and Langa holds his own to try to keep up with the conversation. It’s not easy when this proximity is sending all sorts of crazy signals to his brain. His thumb skims over the edge of a soft jawline.
“Oh. I said you’re beautiful. Is that okay?”
It might be his imagination that Reki isn’t skirting away from his touch anymore, that the slight pressure he gets in return is just a coincidence, not proof that the guy is leaning into it. Amber eyes snap down toward the floor and get shadowed by the messy fringe falling over his forehead.
“You- you don’t have to say that,” he whispers. “I really want to ask what you saw, but I don’t want to be even more pissed off at you right now. I’m so confused, and tired, and you’re not helping holding my face like that.”
Langa huffs out a silent laugh. The hand on the back of Reki’s arm slides up to his upper back, tracing faintly over his spine.
He’s not been pushed away yet. It’s a miracle, and one he’s not taking for granted, but he is so deeply selfish. He’s willing to test the limits if it means he keeps getting Reki to blush that perfect shade of pink.
“Ask me what I saw.”
“Well, you saw the frickin’ box, so I don’t think it’s getting more embarrassing than that,” he chokes out.
The pathetic tinge to his voice unfortunately makes Langa’s pants that much tighter. He rubs his thumb over Reki’s lip and savors how he lets out a faltering hiccup of noise in response.
He figures this is it. He can’t back out now, he just has to try and hope that everything doesn’t end worse than it started.
“I saw the most gorgeous boy, in the most gorgeous skirt. I saw how long and tan his legs were, how his strong thighs and hips filled it out like it was meant just for him,” Langa says.
His heart is going haywire and he’s second-guessing the bold advance every step of the way, but when Reki spares him another panicky glance, he can tell he’s breaking through some of the initial upset. It’s being traded out for something different, something promising. He chances to cup Reki’s cheek just to feel how hot it is to the touch.
His freckled skin is practically aflame.
“I saw how pretty you look alone in your room when you come home all pent up. Maybe after school, maybe after S when everyone’s asleep. No one else has seen, have they, Reki? Are those videos just for you?”
“Langa.”
The warning tone only makes him falter for a moment.
“Did you send them to someone?”
Reki shakes his head, swallowing so thickly it’s audible. That horrible tendril of jealousy finally loosens its grip on Langa’s heart, and he pulls the redhead the smallest bit closer, whether he means to or not. When even that doesn’t shatter the spell hanging over them, he takes a few steps backward and brings Reki with him until his knees hit the mattress.
He sinks to sit at the edge of it and looks up at Reki with a nervous smile.
“I hope you don’t think I’m, like, a horrible friend for thinking about you like this. But I have a confession.”
“What?” Reki croaks.
“It’s not even close to the first time I’ve thought about you in that way. I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since you flew over me on your board.”
The lump growing in Langa’s throat is uncomfortable but it’s nothing compared to the turmoil his friend seems to be going through. Reki’s fingers keep clenching into anxious fists, the faint bruise next to his mouth changing shape each time he fails to form words, catching his lip between his teeth every few seconds. It would be an insane number of bad signs if he didn’t also reach down to meet Langa’s offered hand.
Their fingers squeeze together clumsily.
“That was the first day we met, dude.”
“Yeah.”
“And… and you want-“
“I want all of you. I know it’s selfish, Reki, but you’re so amazing. You’re perfect. I mean it.”
Reki starts sputtering out some more embarrassed sounds before all the words can even make it out of Langa’s mouth. It’s awfully cute.
It’s not a surprise when the tension finally snaps between them and he pulls Reki down onto the top of his lap, but it’s still incredibly nice that it works out so well. Reki’s beautiful, and strong, and the pressure settling over Langa’s thighs makes his breath catch before he has a chance to hide it in a fevered kiss.
It’s only a second of hesitation though, a momentary lapse before he cups his palm over Reki’s jaw and brings their faces together. Legs tense around his own and a flustered noise hums so sweetly against his lips. It’s the most intense head rush Langa’s ever felt, a weightless freefall.
He’s not a particularly practiced kisser but Reki makes it easy. He responds to everything without missing a beat, tilting to the side so that their noses don’t bump and anchoring his hands on Langa’s shoulders. It feels like another one of those inappropriate daydreams but there’s no way he could’ve dreamed up the softness of Reki’s tongue or the heat it would send rushing to his core as it hesitantly brushes over his own.
All of his coherency melts away and Langa groans into Reki’s mouth before pulling back long enough to speak.
“You should put on the skirt.”
“What?”
“Please?”
“Langa, my family is home,” Reki whispers in a squeaky tone. “This is already insane. I can’t play dress up for you so you can…what? Just stare at me like the perv you apparently are?”
His tone is mostly serious but the slight shine to the golden flecks in his eyes reveals a layer of mischief. Langa’s fingers smooth out the hair on the back of his best friend’s neck as he thinks. There’s got to be some way…
The cracked bedroom window catches his attention as he’s about to give up on the - admittedly - ridiculous request.
“First of all, I’m not a perv,” he argues, dotting another quick kiss on Reki’s scrunched lips because that’s something he can do, at least for now, for this fragile second.
“Secondly, the workshop.”
“The…you’re joking.”
“Does it feel like I’m joking?” Langa asks.
He knows Reki can feel it, too, with the way he freezes in apprehension every time he shifts his weight, settled precariously over the obvious erection neither of them has had the bravery to mention. If it had started to flag at all during the heart-dropping argument that never fully took off, it’s back and more stubborn than ever now. Reki’s body is just so warm, and soft, and-
“Listen. I don’t want you to think that I’m, like, a stand-in for a girl or something, Langa. I only bought it because it was pretty and comfortable, and no one was supposed see it. I donated all my clothes like that in middle school for a reason.”
There’s a deep furrow between his brows, and while Langa understands the worry, that’s the furthest thing from his mind. Of course Reki isn’t a girl or a replacement for one. As if he would need that. He shakes his head with a matching frown and hopes that he has the right words to show how wrong that assumption is.
“I’m gay, Reki. I just thought you looked hot.”
Okay, well. It could’ve been more eloquent, but it makes his friend laugh and the sound is so pretty that Langa’s sure he’s going to have a heart attack - if he isn’t already. His chest thrums with an absurd amount of happiness and his arms wrapped around Reki’s back are trembling with the overwhelming energy he doesn’t know what to do with.
He hears Reki gasp as he pulls him closer, burying his face into a broad chest, the scent of his clothes and skin and sweat filling Langa’s senses. God, it’s got to be a weird dream he’ll wake up from any second. On the rare chance it’s not, he nuzzles his face between soft pecs and murmurs into wrinkled fabric.
“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to. You’d look good in anything. Or nothing.”
Reki chokes out another strange noise above him.
“Okay. I’m still trying to come to terms with… all of this. It’s a lot. Today’s been a lot, Langa. I should be mad at you right now. I kind of still am, which is confusing, because I'm sitting on your frickin’ lap. And you’re my best friend. And as much as I might want to…” He trails off with a cough, saying a lot and nothing at all at once.
It’s a bad habit he falls into when he’s scared, or nervous. Shaky fingers interlock at the back of Langa’s neck and hold him in place so he can’t even look up and see Reki’s expression.
It’s okay, though, he’s honestly content here. He can feel the hummingbird beat of Reki’s heart against the side of his face, scarily fast and likely matching his own. Once more he doesn’t know what to say. He squeezes his eyes shut and nods.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you.”
“Quit apologizing. Once is enough. Just… let me have a couple of days, okay? I’m not rejecting you, or whatever. I need to think without your dick poking me in the ass.”
Langa can tell without looking that Reki’s face has lit up bright red again because his voice does that funny squeaky thing that makes him sound like he’s just hit puberty. He pulls Langa back by the collar of his shirt and when their eyes meet it’s so, so difficult not to kiss him.
Reki’s jaw is tense, and his eyes are wide and reflecting light from the lamppost outside the window, and Langa’s almost sure that if he gave in and kissed him again, he would only be scolded a little. He doesn’t. It’s physically torturous, but he nods and lets his hands fall back to the mattress so Reki can stand up.
He scrambles away after a slight delay, and he pointedly keeps his flushed stare at the floor as Langa adjusts himself in his pants and stands up as well. The air between them is awkward, even by Langa’s wonky standards, but he’s left feeling weirdly assured that nothing is truly ruined.
He shuffles over to the edge of the room and pulls the creaky window open.
“Dude, you can go out the front door,” Reki mutters.
“It’s okay. Um, tell your mom I’m sorry I couldn’t stay for dinner.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll - I’ll see you around? I mean, duh. I guess I will. But we can skate to school together again?” Reki asks.
And it’s funny because he’s the one that’s been avoiding Langa like the plague in the first place, but the request is so softspoken and shy that Langa can only frantically nod as he’s already got one leg slung over the window. He ducks beneath the wooden frame and hobbles out into the garden.
“Yeah. Of course.”